It was the only diner for fifty miles.
“Patriots’ Diner? No way I’m going in there,” April said as I swung off the highway.
Of course, I understood why. “C’mon hun, I’m starving.”
Her arms folded, hugged herself, perhaps to hold in the anger. April didn’t like arguments but, once started, the woman could be meaner than a weasel in a trap.
“Why don’t you stay here and I’ll fetch something,” I suggested. “Burger?”
“If you think you can pass the patriotism test.”
The tone was sweet, but I knew she was setting a test of her own.
Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here.